


Crimson and Clover

by shuhannon



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy, The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1950s, Alternate Universe - Historical, Ben and Bazine are together for a hot second, Ben is Lenny Bruce, But also slightly Midge Maisel, F/M, Historical Inaccuracy, POV Alternating, Rey is Midge Maisel, Rey is also Lenny Bruce
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:21:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23021665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shuhannon/pseuds/shuhannon
Summary: a marvelous mrs. maisel/star wars au in which rey and ben are both working as stand up comedians in the late 1950s.
Relationships: Bazine Netal/Ben Solo, Bazine Netal/Kylo Ren, Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey & Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 21
Kudos: 88
Collections: Reylo Hidden Gems, The Perfect Date - Pink Ladies Spring Exchange





	Crimson and Clover

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kaybohls](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaybohls/gifts).



> i am aware the song 'crimson and clover' did not come out until a decade after this is set, so i'm just pleading creative licenses.
> 
> for kirsten. just because.

_I don’t hardly know her // but I think I could love her_

The first thing he notices about her is that she’s good.

_Really_ fucking good.

Like funnier than he is, and he’s been doing this a hell of a lot longer.

She’s quick and witty and raw. She doesn’t shy away from controversial topics - in fact, she seems to relish it. She swears and talks dirty. A couple people stand up, clearly appalled by the words coming out of the young woman’s bright red lips. She calls them out on it too, follows them with her mic, the cord trailing behind her.

She can think on her feet, throw out things from the top of her head.

He lights another cigarette, takes a drag and then settles back in his seat. A slow smirk plays across his lips as he exhales smoke, tapping ash onto the ashtray.

He doesn’t know her, but already he knows what he’s seeing is magic, pure magic. Like lightning striking the same spot twice. Something that doesn’t occur just once in a lifetime or once in a blue moon.

No this is more than that. Greater. Bigger. She’s lighting a spark, and he has no doubt it’s going to change the world.

He settles in. Gets comfortable. Because as long as she’s on this stage, he’s not going anywhere.

——————

She’s rusty. She’s rambling and obnoxious. Some lady in a pretty pale pink dress and fucking matching gloves gets up to leave. Rey can’t blame her. She looks too pristine to soil her ears this far below West 74th.

“Oh, don’t tell me that I’ve offended you?” She calls after her, and the crowd begins to eat it up, begins to laugh and add fuel to the fire.

And to think, she’s just getting started.

“I was talking about sunshine, okay?” She heckles the poor pink woman, and the spotlight moves with her as Rey makes it to the end of the stage. “Sure, it was shining out of his ass, but it’s still sunshine. You can’t get any more wholesome than sunshine!”

She’s on a roll now. The crowd is good, their energy is feeding right back into her, and it feels as if she’s chasing a high. She keeps wanting more, to get a louder laugh, and then another and another. It’s a vicious cycle, and Rey knows at some point it’s going to end.

One night she’s going to get up on this stage and hear nothing but crickets.

After all, even phoenixes, no matter how bright they burn, eventually turn into nothing but ash.

But that time is not now. She’s not crashing and burning tonight.

And she doesn’t. She keeps rolling through her set, improvising here and embellishing there. She talks about her life, about being an orphan in New York without any of the perks or chances at saving the day like the comicstrips about Little Orphan Annie.

“They make it look so glamorous,” she continues on, mic in hand as she moves across the stage. “But I’m still waiting for my fucking Daddy Warbucks to show up.”

The crowd roars, and Rey feels as if she’s flying.

“Alright, alright!” A voice calls out from the crowd. A man in a police uniform steps forward, his complexion pale and the faintest sight of copper hair peeks out from beneath his hat. “I’ve warned you about the language, you know the drill.”

“Officer Hux!” Rey gleefully cries, a wide grin on her face as she lifts both hands up in celebration, angling the mic down to catch her next joke. “Let’s give a round of applause for Officer Hux; protecting the streets of our fair city by patrolling cafes and clubs, searching for women who can’t keep their fucking mouths shut.”

She feels victorious at the sight of his pasty complexion beginning to flush. He looks flustered, his lips curled into a snarl.

“Down. Now Niima.” He barks. “Don’t make me come up there.”

“I’m sorry, Officer Hux.” She speaks into the mic, cupping it with both hands. “I work alone. But I’m sure you’ll find the Costello to your Abbott soon.”

“That’s it!” He’s stepping towards the stage but Rey is already on the move, grabbing her coat and bag from the stool behind her. “I’m Rey Niima! Have a good night!” She waves her farewells, before storming through the club, around the small sets of table and chairs, the bodies packed in like sardines. Hux is right on her tail, merely following rather than leading her out in handcuffs.

After all, it is true. She does know the drill.

The only time a man ever opens a car door for her is when Officer Mitaka and Officer Hux take her for a ride downtown. Her very own carriage, just like Cinderella. Except this one has flashing lights.

Officer Mitaka already has the door open and waiting. She slides into the backseat, and the door slams shut behind her.

The car stays put. She leans forward, addresses Officer Mitaka as he climbs into the driver seat. “Are you going to get moving anytime soon or-”

Her answer comes in the form of the adjacent door opening and a large man being tossed into the seat beside her. Or maybe ‘tossed’ isn’t the right term, seeing that he’s got a couple inches on Officer Hux, who is panting by the time he slides into the passenger seat.

“Are you... _bleeding_?” Officer Mitaka asks his colleague.

“Drive!” Hux snaps. “Just- just drive.”

The car pulls away from the curb with a start.

Rey jerks in her seat, bumping shoulders with the man beside her. “Sorry.” she mumbles, glancing his way. He’s smoking a cigarette, exhaling with an angry puff.

“Hey aren’t you-” She studies his face, turns her body more towards him. She recognizes him. Knows she’s seen him somewhere, or someplace. Her mind is blank but the answer is there, buried deep beneath reminders to pay her rent and pick up some more milk at the corner shop, and to meet with Rose for lunch on Tuesday.

It’s right on the tip of her tongue and-

“I saw your set,” He interrupts, taking another drag, and she stares at the cigarette poised between two thick fingers. His hands are large, and for a moment she becomes entranced. Her very own Marlboro man, sharing a ride to the station. How romantic.

“And?” Rey presses. She doesn’t really care about this stranger’s opinion. She shouldn’t care. But at the same time she does. Just like Tinkerbell, she needs applause to live.

Silence drags between the two. The two officers up front are talking, their voices low, like polite cab drivers who don’t want to be caught eavesdropping, trying to give their passengers as much privacy as they can.

“And?” She asks again.

He’s staring out the window, still smoking away at the dwindling cigarette in hand. He exhales, the smoke curling against the cool glass of the window, and she watches him watch it, as if the fading cigarette smoke is more fascinating than her.

Feeling bold, she reaches over and nips the cigarette from his hand.

“Hey!” He protests but it’s too late. Rey’s already got it in her mouth, leaving red lip prints on the white paper. She sits upright in her seat, her body still poised towards him, one arm folded across her stomach as if to say, _I’m waiting._

She takes another drag, cocks an eyebrow at him expectantly.

“And?” She says for the third time. The final time.

**——————**

She’s just as electrifying in person as she is up on the stage. He wants nothing more than to tell her what he truly feels; how he thinks she’s going places, that she’s got ‘it’, whatever ‘it’ may fucking be.

She’s a star in the making, and he feels like he’s witnessing Cary Grant take the stage for the first time, like he was watching Chuck Berry pick up his first guitar.

And she’s eager for it, Ben can tell. He recognizes that look in her eye. She’s talented sure, but she’s also as green as the god damn Jolly Green Giant. It’s only a matter of time before she’s chewed up and spit back out; before she loses her shine.

“You were alright,” He responds with deliberate nonchalance.

Her poker face is strong. She takes another drag from her, no, _his_ cigarette, studying him with a critical glance. 

He stares right back.

“You were too early with the punchlines a couple of times. The audience was still laughing, so the beginning of your response got drowned out.”

He expects her to get defensive, to jump down his throat and argue.

Instead she nods, brow furrowed and lips pursed. The ember flares on the tip of her, _his_ cigarette. She seems lost in thought and then-

“Alright, enough chatter you two.”

The car stops. The neighborhood police station looms over them, yet as Ben glances towards his fellow convict in the back seat, he can’t help but to feel that there is no where else he would rather be.

**——————**

Finn comes and posts her bail.

She owes him, _again_. Sometimes it feels as if she's never going to escape the mound of growing debt. Her name has been in the red with Finn for as long as she can remember. He was always the one bailing her out, sometimes literally but usually figuratively. He’s always had her back, and she knows one day, when her name is shining bright in the marquee lights, that she’ll be able to pay him back.

One day.

They grab a bite to eat at a corner diner. The eggs are runny but the coffee’s not too bad. They eat in silence, but Rey can feel it hanging in the air, the doomed conversation that occurs every couple of months when Finn grows weary of being her ‘get out of jail’ card.

“Rey.”

She stabs at her eggs with her fork, avoiding his eye.

“ _Rey_.”

He shifts in his chair, and as his eyes meet Rey’s, she knows she’s in for it this time. She remains silent as she lifts the chipped mug to her lips. The coffee’s too hot. It scorches her tongue, but she swallows it down anyways.

“I can’t keep doing this.” He admits, picking up his fork and beginning to push at the sad looking pile of potatoes. “I’m tapped out. I can’t keep posting your bail.”

“Look-” She shifts now, her back hunched as she leans forward. “I know it’s been a lot. I’ve been asking a lot of you. It’s not always going to be like this, Finn. Tonight, you should have heard them. I was on fire and-”

He sets his mug down with a heavy thud. “You’re always saying that, Rey. That tonight’s going to be the night. That soon you’re going to get your big break. I love you, Peanut. I want you to succeed and to have all the good things but-”

She can’t handle hearing anymore. Rey raises her hand, gives a nod of her head. “I get it, Finn. I really do.”

From this point on, she’s on her own. But that’s alright. She’s been on her own before.

**——————**

Weeks pass, and he still can’t get her off of his mind. He goes back to the Gas Light night after night, but she never comes on stage. He sits through beat poetry, acoustic sing-alongs, and one too many comedy acts that are stolen straight from Bob Newhart.

After three weeks he breaks down and goes to the manager.

“Maz, where’s the girl comidian?”

She continues drying drinking glass after glass, not even looking up at him. “Which girl comedian?” 

He slams his fist down on the bar top, and is immediately fixed with a steely glare.

“You know which one,” he presses. After all, there is only one. Everyone else pales in comparison; men, women, whatever. Half the people performing over at the Duplex or hell, even Radio City aren’t as good as her.

For a moment he thinks he’s gone too far. It wouldn’t be the first time, and probably not the last. Maz is tough, but she hates being bossed around. A strained apology (or at least his best mumbling approximation of one) is about to be torn from his lips when she speaks.

“Her name is Rey Niima. She was here last night. Showed up drunk about an hour after you left-“

He swears. He should have stuck it out a little while longer. But he had already been camped out at the table for four hours and if he heard one more beat played on the bongos….

“Is she coming back tonight?” Ben interrupts, his hands gripping the edge of the bar. “Is she signed up for a slot? What time?” He attempts to peer over the bar, to where a clipboard lays, names scribbled in next to times.

Maz yanks the clipboard out of his line of sight. She’s frowning now. “She got arrested. Usually she’s back by morning to pick up her bag but-“ the older woman’s voice fades and she offers nothing more than a shrug.

But that’s alright. Ben’s got all the information he needs.

**——————**

“Niima!” It’s Officer Hux again. Rey doesn’t even open her eyes from where she waits in the holding cell, her body stretched out on the hard, wooden bench. She hadn’t bothered to call Finn, knowing he would just come running, causing the vicious cycle of awkward talks over breakfast once again.

No, she got herself into this mess.

She’ll figure something out.

_Something_.

“Niima.” He’s impatiently tapping his foot as he fiddles with his keys. “Get up. Bail’s been posted.” 

That causes her to abruptly sit up, swinging her legs over the side of the bench before they plant firmly on the floor.

She got bailed out?

It has to be Finn. Or Maz. Someone must have realized when she hadn’t been around for the last day and put two and two together. She’s led out of the holding cell, given the paper bag with her meager belongings; a few bits of pocket change and the notebook that she always carries on her, ideas and jokes hastily scribbled inside.

Bouncing down the stairs, Rey rounds the corner. But standing below her in the lobby of the building isn’t Finn. It’s not Maz either. 

No, it’s the tall, dark haired stranger from the patrol car ride a few weeks back. The guy who had called her set ‘alright’, who she had wanted to argue with, except for the fact that he had made some good points. She had been too early with a couple punchlines. She had been rushed through a couple of her deliveries.

It was the guy whose face looked so familiar, but had taken a full week before she finally figured it out.

He’s wearing a suit, white dress shirt providing a stark contrast to the black slacks and suit jacket. His hands shoved into his pant’s pockets, his shoulders slightly hunched, his body language indicating that he was on the brink of pacing.

“You’re not Finn. Or Maz.” She stops on the stairs, pauses for a moment before she continues her descent, her pace slow.

He lifts his head to look at her. “No,” He agrees simply. “I’m not.”

Only a couple steps remain. That’s all that’s left in terms of distance between them. “I know who you are.”

“Good.”

“It took a week, but I kept thinking. I know I’ve seen you somewhere before. Even your voice sounded familiar.”

“So what you’re saying is, you thought of me for a week straight?” He quips back, dark brow arched. “Sounds like I consumed your every thought.”

Her cheeks flush. Rey hates it.

She carries on. “You’re Ben Solo.” 

She didn’t expect to see him to visibly flinch at the sound of his own name. The falter lasts for barely a moment. It’s a blink and you’ll miss it sort of knee jerk reaction. But she caught it, and it’s something she files away for later.

Rey is good at remembering things, and she’s good at reading people, at catching their tell tale signs and interpreting their body language. After moving around so much, bouncing from place to place as a kid, she had to learn fast. It made it easier when you could pick out the nice parents from the more colorful ones.

He doesn’t admit to the name, but he doesn’t deny it either. Rey takes his silence as acceptance. She walks down the remaining few steps.

“So why did you bail me out?” She asks the question hesitantly. After all, she knows better than to trust any good deed. There’s nothing ever done out of complete kindness, at least not in her books. There’s always a catch, a hidden agenda.

Rey wasn’t about to sell her soul away for some bail money. She’d rather crawl back into the holding cell and place a call to Finn with her tail between her legs.

He looks at her. She’s on the last step, their height difference not as exaggerated now. She only has to tilt her chin slightly to look him straight in the eye.

His mouth works. Her gaze drops to his lips, and for a moment she can only silently marvel. He had beautiful lips. Soft and pink, plush like velvet. A pair of lips that you could get lost in. Suddenly she wanted to see them swollen and wet, smeared with her lipstick.

“You’re talented.” His voice breaks her out of her trance. She abandons her ogling and her eyes meet his. 

“You said I was rushed in the patrol car.”

“You were.”

“You said my timing was off.”

“It was.”

“But I’m talented?”

“You’re… talented.” He says again, the words still strained as if it pains him to give a compliment. “You deserve more than to rot away in a jail cell, waiting for your day in court.”

She nods her head, slowly digesting his words. After all, it’s not every day a legendary comic, with records that line your shelves, who you’ve seen on tv, who you’ve admired, sings your praises. 

He pulls a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, tapping the carton against the palm of his hand. He doesn’t offer one to Rey, like gentlemen always do in the movies, and instead brings one to poise between his lips. Seeing his thick fingers so close to that mouth… Rey looks away, fidgets where she stands.

The scent of cigarette smoke soon hangs in the air.

“So that’s it?” She asks after a moment.

He shrugs his shoulders as he takes another drag. “Yep. Guess that’s it.” Ben turns to go, as if the conversation has ended and his business is done, but Rey’s right on his tail, just a step or two behind.

“You bail me out,” She recounts. “A stranger. Who you saw perform once in a terribly sticky, dingy cafe that is the Gas Light, and that’s it? I don’t get it-”

They’ve made their way outside now, only stopping once they’ve reached the sidewalk in front of the police station. The sun set long ago, but the sky is still bright, lit up by the buildings and street lamps. Rey and Ben stand like two islands amongst the sea of people, bustling to and from their late night adventures.

“You’re talented.” He reiterates. “You shouldn’t be wasting time in a jail cell, when you could be spending that time up on a stage. _That’s_ where you belong. Not locked up over some fucking words and dirty jokes.”

She goes silent, completely floored and not sure about what to say. She feels like pinching herself, because this really can’t be her life right now. This can’t be happening.

He’s turning now, his back to her as he makes his way down the sidewalk, leaving a trail of smoke in his wake.

“So that’s it?!” She calls after him, throwing a hand up. “You bail me out, and I’m just supposed to carry on telling jokes?”

“Yep!” He retorts, head straight, not even a glance in her direction.

Rey watches him walk away, a wry smirk playing across her lips. She doesn’t take her eyes off of him, and he’s only gotten a few feet away before she calls out again. “Do you love it?”

“What?” The question causes him to turn. 

“Comedy. Do you love it?”

He seems to think for a moment, taps his cigarette and she watches the ash fall to the ground. Just when she thinks he’s going to answer her, he lifts his arms in a shrug, his lips pressed together, and the look of his face one of uncertainty.

But then his lips curl into a smirk as he slowly turns, his arms dropping back down to his sides as he continues on his path, eventually disappearing around the corner and into the night.

“Yeah,” Rey can’t help but to murmur as she once again watches his retreating form. “He loves it.”

**——————**

Their paths continue to cross.

He watches her career rise with baited breath. It’s captivating watching her fly, but he hopes to God that she doesn’t get too close to the sun. The last thing he wants is to watch her crash, to burn.

But even with a couple set backs, she’s climbing forward. He begins to hear her name around the comedy circuit, talk about this girl from Brooklyn with the mouth of a sailor and an ass like a peach.

He punched the guy that said that.

Ben keeps his distance, for the most part. He focuses on his own work, on keeping his name relevant and keeping the money coming in.

After all, he’s the first member of the Skywalker family to get into show business that didn’t pick up a guitar or make a beeline for Broadway. His uncle said he couldn’t do it, and with every gig he gets, with every tour he’s offered, well, Ben feels like that’s as good as the middle finger to his uncle’s face.

Being on tour keeps him busy. He’s out on the road, traveling across the country, staying in okay hotel rooms. Most of the time he’s drunk on whiskey and smoking joints left and right. The road is a lonely place, and the worst place for Ben to be is lost in his own thoughts. Coming home to dark hotel rooms late at night always means being too much in his head. So he pops a couple pills and heads to bed.

The next day it’s all the same. Drink. Perform. Smoke. Perform. Pills. Perform. More pills. Sleep. Wash, rinse, repeat.

But the moment he’s back in the city, Ben can’t help himself. He knows he should keep his distance. He knows he should stay away. But like the siren calls to the sailor at sea, he’s drawn back in towards her.

“You should come with me,” Ben tells her. She just finished a set at the Gas Light, and she’s leaning against the bar, watching a woman beat some bongos.

“I’m watching this.” She jerks her head in the direction of the stage. She’s fighting a smile. He can tell by the way she keeps pressing her lips together, trying to hide the way the corners of her mouth turn upwards.

“Fuck the bongos.” Ben complains, and before he can think about it, what it means, what it could mean, he’s taking her by the hand and leading her out of the downstairs coffee house, and up onto the street.

She’s laughing as they emerge onto the sidewalk, and he doesn’t let go of her hand, at least not yet. “Where are we going?” She asks, but she’s not pulling away from him either, and that feels like a victory to Ben.

“I have a gig.” He tells her, as he steps towards the curb and tries to hail a taxi. “I want you to come. It’s about time you fawned over me from the audience, for a change. Time we swapped places.”

Rey snorts. “I own your records. I knew who you were long before you ever knew about me. I’m pretty sure I had a poster of you that I carried around to every foster home in the city.” 

Now it’s his turn to roll his eyes. “Great, kid. You’re making me feel old.” Once again Ben is thankful for the length of his hair. It might be considered unfashionable by some, but it serves its purpose, hiding his ears, the tips of which he knows are blushing red.

Out of instinct he reaches for the cigarettes in his pocket, causing their hands to drop to their respected sides. Immediately he misses the contact, his palm feeling oddly cold and his fingers feeling empty without hers. He shoves his hand into the pocket of his trench coat, but it does little to fill the void.

The cab pulls up to the curb. They climb in, in silence and Ben rattles off the address to the driver. It’s not far. If he hadn’t been running late they could have very easily walked.

They don’t speak, but Ben just holds out his cigarette in offering. For the next eight blocks they pass the cigarette back and forth between one another, fingers brushing during the exchange.

The back of the cab feels warm, and Ben tugs at his collar, loosens his tie some more. He feels Rey shifting beside him.

A few times he opens his mouth as if he’s about to speak, only for the words to die on the tip of his tongue, and he decides the silence is better.

The cab pulls over, and Ben scrambles to pay the driver before hopping out. He drops the cigarette onto the asphalt, extinguishes it with the sole of his shoe, and then he’s offering Rey his hand.

“Where are we?” She looks around, trying to see a street sign or a building that looks familiar, but then she slides her hand into Ben’s and he’s pulling her along.

They’re at the back entrance, and Ben greets the doorman with a curt nod. They slip inside, and there’s a flurry of movement. They cut through room after room, and he keeps looking at her, keeps waiting for the recognition to sink in.

It hits her halfway through the kitchen, which is absolutely madness, steam billowing from pots, cooks shouting to one another, and a rotation of servers in their prim shirts and ties, constantly moving through the double doors.

“Shit,” she swears, her pace slowing until it comes to a complete stop. “Shit, shit, shit.” She looks to Ben, eyes wide and lips parted. “You brought me to the fucking Copacobana?!”

The smile that stretches wide across his face comes easily.

The look of mortification that crosses Rey’s face is a surprise.

“What?” His smile falters, and he reaches for her hand once again.

She jerks away.

“Ben you can’t just bring me to the damn _Copacabana._ ” Her voice is on the verge of hysterics. “Look at me!” She motions to her body, and Ben would be lying if he said he didn’t take it as an open invitation to gawk. Slowly he drags his gaze over her form, not seeing anything wrong with the way her sweater is tight across her bust, to the way her slacks hug her hips.

He finally his eyes land on her face. Her arms are folded across her chest now, and her mouth is pinched into a tight line. 

Ben can offer nothing more than a shrug of his shoulders. He’s coming up empty.

“ _Look at me_ -“ She hisses again, but she doesn’t give him a chance to look again, before she’s ranting, her arms flailing as she speaks. “I’m in a goddamn sweater and pants. At one of the nicest places in the city. Where formal wear is required. There’s fucking valet parking for Christ’s sake.” He must still be looking at her with a blank stare because she jabs him in the chest before carrying on. “You’re in a suit, and because it’s not a tux you’re probably under dressed!”

His brow furrows. “So this is all about your outfit? Fuck the outfit. Who cares?”

“ _I_ care.” She counters, holding her hands to her chest. “It’s bad enough I’m from fucking nowhere. It’s bad enough I don’t have a family, a- a- _legacy_. I’m a nobody, I’m nothing. All I have are first impressions, Ben.”

“You’re not nothing-” He shakes his head, stepping towards her, the kitchen around them forgotten. The staff keeps moving, keeps going through their Friday night dinner rush as if a couple of comics aren’t having a heart to heart in the middle of it all. “Not to me. And,” He takes her hand, begins to lead her out of the kitchen once again. “I’m going to prove it to you.”

They arrive backstage. Someone, Rey must assume is the stage manager hisses at Ben about being late, but he merely waves the disgruntled man off. Distantly the sound of Ben’s name being announced is heard, followed by a round of cheers, applause.

“Keep it clean, Solo!” The manager hisses again. Ben doesn’t pay the man any mind. Instead he’s grinning at Rey, a glint in his eye. “Wish me luck, kid.” 

And then he’s stepping onto the stage, into the spotlight.

——————

“I can’t believe you did that!” They stumble out the backdoor of the club, laughing and smiling and breathless. Both running off the high that came from performing on a stage, of having an audience laughing at your jokes. Of feeling understood, significant. As if you had a voice and it mattered.

“I proved my point, didn’t I?” Ben retorts, eyebrow raised. “No one gave a shit what you were wearing. You made them laugh. You were on fire. They loved you.”

Rey looks at him, soft smile on her lips and her eyes fixated upon his own. “You didn’t have to give me your gig.”

“You were better at it, than me.” Ben waves a hand, cigarette poised between his lips. “Besides, I’ve performed there already. It’s overrated.” He grins, the kind that makes the corner of his eyes crinkle. The kind that makes him look soft and young, like the picture of the man on the poster that had hung in her childhood bedroom.

“Thank you.” She tells him, leaning forward to press her lips chastely to his cheek. “I’ll never forget tonight, Ben. It was amazing.”

He takes the unlit cigarette from his lips, offers a small shrug. “Anything for you, kid.” Rey turns to walk down the sidewalk. She feels as if she’s floating, as if she’s walking on air. She turns, glances over her shoulder and for a moment just looks at Ben, who's still a few paces behind.

_What a night, what a feeling,_ she thinks. And it’s all thanks to him.

  
  


——————

She strides to the bar, heels clicking against the sticky floor. “Two comics walk into a bar-” She begins to say, throwing herself onto the empty stool right beside him.

“And neither have enough money to pay for the drinks.” He concludes, lifting his half empty glass in silent cheers.

“Shit.” She bumps shoulders with him, flashes a soft smile. “You stole my joke.”

He looks tired. Worn. He offers up nothing more than a small glance, before his fingers are working, taking out a cigarette and swiftly lighting the end. 

“You too, huh?” She muses, waving to the bartender and ordering herself a scotch, neat. She makes it two, figuring if she doesn’t drink it, Ben certainly will.

“Me too, what?” He counters back, his expression surly as a black curl falls across his forehead, towards his eyes. Rey ignores the instinct to reach forward, to tuck it back into place.

“I’ve had a rough night. And I came here, expecting full sympathy to be spent on me. But I can tell you’ve already wasted your own wallowing on yourself.”

That gains her a smirk. It’s fleeting across his lips and sarcastic in nature. Though it might be crumbs, it’s enough. She’ll take it.

“I can now add Corellia on a list of places that have a warrant for my arrest.” A heavy sigh follows his words. He holds the cigarettes between his lips as he speaks. “I’ll soon be banned from every fucking major city in the country. Destined to perform in sad, sandy places like Tatooine or Jakku.”

“Hey-” She reaches forward, plucking the cigarette from his mouth. “Easy on Jakku. I’m from there.”

“Yeah, well the place is the definition of nowhere.”

She doesn’t argue, instead just takes a slow drag. She’s sitting on her stool, legs crossed and body facing his. His tie is loosened around his neck, his suit jacket draped haphazardly over the back of his chair, and the sleeves of his white button up rolled up past his elbows.

And then there’s that hair, that single dark lock still falling across his forehead.

“You’re staring.” Ben calls her out. He’s looking straight ahead, eyes fixated upon some random bottle on a random shelf. Slowly he drags his eyes over to her, and she feels her cheeks heat.

She hates that about him. The way he can make her flustered, make her flush with just a single look. She doesn’t want to think about it, doesn’t want to analyze or decipher what it could mean.

“You have a hair out of place.” She finally quips, taking another drag.

He lifts a hand, ruffling his hair and pushing it back away from his face. “Better?”

“Beautiful.”

He gives her a pointed, sarcastic look before rolling his eyes. She nudges the bottom of his stool with her foot. “Drink your drink and be happy.” She orders, nodding her chin to the large shot of brandy that sits on the bar. Ben silently reaches for it, his large hands dwarfing the glass, and knocks all the liquor back in one go.

“That wasn’t my drink,” he argues, setting the now empty glass back onto the bartop with a small thud. “But thanks. It helped.”

A silence settles between them, but it’s comfortable, familiar. After all this isn’t the first bar they’ve ended up in together, whether by purpose or by chance. It won’t be the last.

Ben shifts, the stool creaking under the change of weight. “You didn’t tell me,” He begins, only to be interrupted by the bartender setting down two glasses of scotch before them. “You didn’t say why you’re here.”

She offers the bartender a tight smile in thanks, before reaching for her scotch. “I’m here to drink,” she answers before her lips meet the rim of the glass, and she’s downing half its contents, wincing at the burn in the back of her throat.

She can feel his stare upon her. He knows that’s not the only reason, not the whole truth. It’ll be only a matter of time before he gets it out of her too, so Rey sighs before continuing on, ready to rip the band-aid off in one, fell swoop.

“I’m broke.” It’s not the first time she’s spoken those words either, but it is the first time in a while. “I’m basically working to pay off the lawyers. Guess getting thrown into jail time and time again really begins to put a damper on your pocketbook.”

Rey finishes the first glass of scotch, and chases it down with a final drag of the cigarette, before extinguishing the butt on the ashtray. Then she begins the silent countdown in her head, until he swoops in with an offer to save the day, to fix it all.

Three… two… one...

“I can ask my mother. For a loan.” He hates asking his parents for anything. Rey knows that. Immediately she shakes her head. “No, Ben. You don’t need to do that.” He hasn’t reached for the second glass of scotch, so she claims it for herself. “Thanks, but I’m very capable of walking out on a bill like a grown up.”

Quiet settles between them. Rey lifts a hand, silently ordering another round of drinks. After all, she has a promise to keep, a tab to walk out on.

“Do you ever just-” Ben starts before he stops himself, his lips puffing out as he exhales heavily. “You ever just feel tired?”

“Yes.” She nods her head, her fingers curl around the empty glass, and she begins to rhythmic tab against the rim. “All the time.”

“Do you think it gets better?” Ben turns his head towards her. He’s holding his cigarette between his fingers, his hands resting on the wooden bartop, covered in peanut crumbs and stained rings left over from perspiring glasses.

For a moment, Rey weighs the question in her mind. After all, what even is the end goal? A bigger gig? More money? More fame? Recognition? Applause? When is it enough? When will she know that this is it, that she’s made it? When will she feel secure?

Or is that all just a fairy tale? Some pretty little story spun for children to fill their minds with sweet dreams at night.

“Yeah,” She slowly nods, turning to face him. “Yeah I think it does get better.”

It had to. For the only other choice of swimming upwards, of breaking the surface and breathing in the air, was to just swim down.

Rey had worked too hard to swim down.

——————

He doesn’t know why he does it. Maybe because he’s drunk. Maybe because he’s high. But Bazine is there and Rey is not. He’s feeling pathetic and alone. He’s feeling like he’s at the bottom of the barrel, barely able to keep his head up as more and more shit is piled on. 

So he does something stupid, something petty and wreckless.

He marries the wrong girl.

Ben knows it too. He feels it, deep in his bones as he gets ready to walk down to the courthouse, his fiance on his arm. She’s not even wearing white, instead opting for some red party dress paired with pearls. He can’t even blame it on feeling like a good idea at the time. It just seems like a choice, a decision, something that for once is in his control.

What he doesn’t expect is the press. The news blows up, is blasted across every cover of every newspaper. It makes the five o’clock news, and it’s the hot topic of every radio station that he flips through.

His mother calls the next day. He expects her to chew him out, to yell, to cry. Instead her side of the phone call is filled with a heavy, disappointed silence.

It’s almost too much to bear. He nearly hangs up on her. The repercussions of that would be, _had_ to be better than this.

“Did you tell her?” His mother’s voice floats over the telephone line. 

Ben blinks, frowns in confusion. “Who?”

“Rey.”

Hearing her name from his mother’s lips sounds strange. They’ve crossed paths. Ben knew that. But they were in such separate parts of his life, it was hard to imagine the pair in the same room together.

Actually, it was easy to picture it. They would get along, Ben knew that. They were similar in many ways, and different in even more. But how easily Ben could picture them gathered around the dining room table, talking comedy and stage shows, sharing bits and pieces of their lives. Rey would hang on Leia’s every word, and in turn Leia would listen to the younger girl, a knowing smile on her lips and a gleam in her chocolate eyes.

“Why would I- I didn’t-”

“She’s going to find out, Ben. She’s going to see the papers.”

“I didn’t think she needed to know. We’re- Things aren’t-”

“Right, Benjamin.” His mother sounds tired as she exhales into the phone. “We can agree on one thing. You didn’t think.”

——————

Rey finds out in the papers, like everyone else. She’s hurt. She’s upset. She’s frustrated and mad, and just a tornado of emotions spinning out of control.

She hates that she feels this way, but what she hates even more is that she has no right to these feelings. After all, they’ve been nothing but friends, if you could even call them that. Coworkers, perhaps, is a more accurate description of their relationship. Acquaintances. They blow in and out of each other’s lives, abrupt and sudden, leaving nothing but a whirlwind in their wake.

She has no claim to his life, no right to tell him what he can and cannot do, who he can and cannot marry.

Yet her heart still hurts. It aches every time she sees their pictures sprawled across the front pages of newspapers and magazines. 

Most of all, she hates that she had to hear it from some tabloid and not from Ben himself.

_It’ll be fine,_ Rey tells herself. _Get yourself together,_ she mutters under her breath, splashing cold water on her face and scrubbing away the remnants of mascara and tears from her eyes, her cheeks. She has work to focus on. She needs to work on a new set, needs to bring some new material to light.

Rey doesn’t need to waste any more time on thoughts of Ben Solo. She sure as hell doesn’t need to waste anymore tears on the man either.

No, she decides that from this point on she’s moving forward, she’s moving on. Her chin will be held high. She’ll throw herself into her work. She’s got it all figured out.

Then he shows up drunk at the Gas Light.

She doesn’t see him. Not at first. The spotlight’s too bright, and she’s having an off night. She’s reciting jokes, getting some laughs but it doesn’t feel the same. Maybe it’s the audience, or maybe it’s her. The spark isn’t there. There’s no feeling of euphoria, no high to chase.

It’s all feeling very… flat.

There’s the sound of chairs scraping against the floor, and footsteps shuffling. Someone shouts a ‘hey’, and Rey stops mid joke, hand raised to shield her eyes against the light.

She would recognize those broad shoulders anywhere.

“Watch it!” Someone else yells, and then there’s more shouting. A woman screams, and Rey’s on the move, running off the stage and pushing her way towards the back just as Ben pulls back his arm, winding up to throw a punch.

His fist arcs through the air and collides with a man’s face. 

Madness ensues.

Everyone’s scrambling, either to get away from the fight or to get closer. Rey’s pushing still, elbowing and shoving, and fighting tooth and nail to get through the wall of people that have surrounded the fight, just to get to him.

Finally, she breaks through. “Ben! _Ben_!” She shouts his name but it’s no use. The stranger socks him in the eye, and Ben staggers back. Rey takes the opportunity to step forward, arms outstretched as she places herself in between the two men.

The other guy is holding his nose, blood seeping through the cracks between his fingers. Ben’s panting, the skin around his eye beginning to swell and bruise.

“Outside!” Maz barks. The sea of people instantly part for the petite, older woman. She points to the two men, then to Rey. “All three of you, out.”

Rey’s cheeks flush. She wants to argue, wants to point out that she still has a set to finish. But the steely look in Maz’s eye causes the words to fade from her tongue. Instead she grabs Ben’s arm and begins to drag him up the stairs and out of the Gas Light.

A steady downpour is falling from the dark, cloudy sky. The streets are mostly empty. She ignores the rain, and rounds on Ben.

“What the fuck was that about?!”

“What?” He’s playing stupid and he won’t look her in the eye. 

“You can’t do that. You can’t show up here, out of the blue, without speaking to me for months.”

“I always do that.” He counters back. His hair is soaked, sticking to his forehead. He lifts a hand, brings it to the front of his forehead, then the back of his head, his lips moving, his jaw working. “That’s our thing. That’s what we do. We show up whenever the fuck we feel like it, we have our fun, and then we go back to our lives.”

She falters as if she’s been slapped. Lips slightly parted and expression cold, she shakes her head. “That’s not what we do.”

His eyes flash to hers. “Then you define it.”

“We’re friends. Or at least I _thought_ we were-.”

“We _are_.” He interjects

“Friends don’t just roll in and out of each other’s lives. Friends don’t disappear into the night, go missing for months at a time.” She pauses. Maybe calling him out on his bullshit while he’s drunk isn’t smart, but she’s on a roll, is already treading on shaky ground. But then her eyes catch on the gold ring around his left finger and Rey realizes how very easy it is to slip. “Friends tell each other when they’re getting married.”

They both stand there, allowing the rain to drench their hair, their clothes, allowing droplets to collect and form like beads on their skin.

“I didn’t- It wasn’t-” He keeps stopping and starting. A growl of frustration slips from his lips, and he turns but stops, as if suddenly realizing he has nowhere to go.

“You what?” Rey snaps, eyes narrowing. “You didn’t what? It wasn’t what?”

“I don’t love her.” It’s a bold thing to admit. What a dramatic scene they must be making, quarrelling in the streets, all while being coated in a downpour of rain. Rey can’t help but to bitterly think that this performance should be nominated for a fucking Oscar.

She also can’t believe that she’s waiting for him to continue with bated breath. That she’s reading between the lines, filling in his silence and spaces with what she wants to hear.

_He doesn’t love her._

But Ben doesn’t continue and Rey grows impatient. “Then why did you marry her?” 

“I don’t know.”

This time a laugh slips from her lips; dry, sarcastic and void of humor. She folds her arms across her chest, shakes her head as once again she brings her eyes to his form. “You don’t know.” Rey echos. It’s a cop out of an answer, and they both know it. But it seems he can’t offer her anything else.

“Well,” she turns. She’s tired, cold, and soaked to the bone. He doesn’t try to stop her. “When you figure that out, let me know.”

——————

The marriage unravels nearly as fast as it started. It’s the definition of a whirlwind romance without any of the romance. They scream at one another, shout, call each other names, fuck. Ben’s destroyed more tumbler glasses by throwing them at the walls, just to prevent his fists going through the drywall.

Glasses are easier to replace, after all.

They bring out the worst in one another. 

Bazine is the one who suggests the divorce, and Ben doesn’t even care. He just asks where he needs to sign. It’s in the papers. The news spreads just like the wedding. Another celebrity marriage in shams, if it can even be labeled as such.

His phone won’t stop ringing. Ben doesn’t answer any calls.

He just pops another pill, washes it down with a glass of scotch, and gets back to work.

After all, isn’t it said that comedy is derived from tragedy?

——————

She’s on tour. It’s a big one too. She’s the opening act for Poe Dameron, and they’re traveling the country, staying in fancy hotels and performing at equally fancy clubs and casinos. She gets to see Canto Bight in all of its notoriety and glory, before they move onto the next place, which is always bigger and better.

Finally they arrive in Spira. It’s warm, yet so different from Jakku. The air is humid, sticky and hot. Rey spends her days lounging by the hotel’s pool, and spends her nights tagging along with Dameron and his band to various after parties once their performances are done. She becomes even more of a night owl, staying up until the wee hours of the morning and not crawling out of her bed until far after lunch.

It’s amazing what a bit of bright sky and warm, sun shining weather can do for one’s mood. Not to mention she’s living comfortably for once. She finally can buy a couple drinks at the bar without the guilt eating away, leaving a pit in her stomach. She’s finally digging herself out of the debt hole, finally crawling out of the red. The lawyer’s have been paid, and she sends money home to Finn every chance that she gets. For what feels like the first time in forever, Rey feels as if she can breathe.

She has a rare night off, but she’s still working. Perched at a bar, she’s poring over her notebooks, jotting down notes about her act, things that need to be tweaked and new material that she wants to try.

A man sits down next to her. Rey spares him a glance and nothing else.

“Hey sweetheart.” He leans close to her, and it takes all of Rey’s self control to not roll her eyes. She does her best to ignore him, to politely decline his offers to buy her a drink. But the man keeps pushing, keeps bothering her, and finally she reaches her limit.

“Listen, I’m busy writing dick jokes here-” She snaps, motioning to the papers spread out before her. “So if you don’t mind-”

She feels another presence, this one towering over her, as a male form leans forward, as if peering over her shoulder to look at her papers.

“I like number three. It paints a great picture.”

Rey does a double take, and a smile instantaneously spreads across her lips as she takes in the sight of Ben Solo. She hasn’t seen him since their screaming match in the streets. So many times she had picked up her phone, had her finger poised and ready to dial his number.

“What are you doing here?” She wants to jump up, to pull him into an embrace, but she remains seated, her body turned towards him.

The guy on the right grabs his drink and moves along. It’s crazy what a tall, brooding man presence can do to scare off unwanted attention.

“I heard Dameron’s tour was in town,” Ben answers. He looks… distracted, on edge. He looks around the bar, seems to hesitate before his gaze finally lands on Rey. “You want to get out of here?”

She wants to ask him twice. “Let me just drop my stuff off in my room.” She begins to gather her papers and notebooks. “Meet you in the lobby in five minutes?”

Five minutes turns more into ten. Rey doesn’t know why, but she ends up changing, swapping her pants and sweater for a beautiful dress that she had splurged on with her first big paycheck. She had immediately regretted the decision, lamented to Finn over the phone about what a waste it was.

But it was hard, surrounded by the beautiful flowers and swaying palm trees, to see everyone dolled up, their faces painted so nice, and not to want to fit in. Even if it was just for a moment.

The dress is satin and black, with large, crimson flowers printed all over it, and sheer straps going over her shoulders. It’s perhaps the most glamorous, the most femine thing she owns, what with it’s full skirt. She feels transformed as she paints her lips red, feels like a different person as she looks at the girl staring back at her in the mirror.

The warm sun has turned her skin golden, has brought out the freckles on her cheeks and her nose. Her hair is still in it’s trademark ponytail, tied back with a black velvet ribbon, the ends bouncy with loose curls.

Walking down the grand staircase, one hand gliding along the railing, Rey can’t help but to feel embarrassed, silly. Why did she even waste time changing? Why did she get so dressed up? He asked her to get out of the hotel, maybe that meant just for a walk. Maybe they were going to head to a diner, to grab a bite to eat.

She shouldn’t care. After all that happened, after he showed up to the Gas Light drunk off his face. Rey should be done with him, should be washing her hands and calling it quits. He got married and didn’t tell her. He got divorced and never called.

The last thing Rey should be doing is putting on lipstick for this man and yet...

She rounds the corner of the stairs, catches sight of him standing there, waiting for her in the foyer. Her eyes are fixed upon his face, and she sees his expression change the moment his eyes land upon her.

Her worries vanish. It’s all worth it, just to see the look upon his face. He looks captivated, looks breathless. And he’s staring straight back at her as if she’s the only one in the room.

“Ready?” She quips, practically dancing down the last couple steps. He nods, silently offers her his arm which Rey is happy to take.

**——————**

They wind up in a club.

There’s mood lighting, and singers who saunter around, dancers trailing after them dressed to the nines in sparkles and feathers. People dance, their bodies close and swaying, and in the center of it all, sits Rey and Ben.

There’s a small table between them, littered with lighters, a carton of cigarettes, half empty drinks and a triangular shaped ashtray. Other couples are around them, sitting at their own respected tables, everyone’s eyes glued upon the singer as he sashays through the club, crooning about love and loss and all the things that good songs are written about.

Everyone is watching the singer, except for Ben who can’t pull his eyes away from Rey.

He watches her raise the cigarette to her lips, take a slow drag before exhaling. “You’re staring.” 

She calls him out, but he doesn’t care. He simply stares back, smoking his cigarette, his eyes fixated upon her. He doesn’t even try to hide the way his mouth curls up, doesn’t try to hide behind his usual brooding, sullen self.

This is a moment that he doesn’t want to taint with masks. He wants to hold onto this, to remember it for what it is, for what it was.

“You’re staring too,” Ben replies, because it’s true. She’s looking straight back at him, her eyes burning into his. 

She smiles, lifts her shoulder as if to say ‘so what?’ 

Leaning forward, he watches her extinguish her cigarette before she gets to her feet. “Come on,” she holds out a hand to him, a playful gleam flashing across her hazel eyes. “We’re going to dance.”

“Dance?” Ben echoes, but he’s already mirroring her actions, pressing his half smoked cigarette into the ashtray, twist and turning until the embers are snuffed out. “I didn’t know you danced, Niima.”

His hands slide into hers, and it feels warm, familiar. Like a home.

“Guess you’re about to find out, Solo.”

They move to the dance floor, hands clasped, his arm looped around her waist, his palm pressing into her back. She’s close to him. Perhaps the closest she’s ever been, and Ben can’t help but to breathe in the scent of her hair, to relish in the feeling of her skin against his.

Their bodies begin to sway. He’s not even certain that they’re moving in time with the music, but he doesn’t care. Everything else fades away. Once again there’s nothing left but him and her.

It scares him how right that feels. 

“What?” She asks him, chin tilted and her eyes wide.

“Nothing-” He murmurs, giving a small shake of his head. “I just can’t think of anything funny to say.”

She smiles at that, seems to think before she lays her head against his chest. “I can’t either. It’s kind of nice.”

He rests his chin on top of her head, their bodies still moving in a circle, their movements more swaying than dancing. But that’s okay. Because she’s right. This is nice.

**——————**

“You never told me why you’re in Spira.” 

They’re walking along the waterfront hotel, enjoying the sight of palm trees and the warm, balmy breeze that keeps brushing against her skin. The moon shines high above, and somehow his suit jacket ends up draped over her shoulders. Rey wasn’t even that cold, but she’s not complaining. She enjoys the way the soft, black fabric envelops her, the way it carries his scent.

He hesitates, but that’s not unusual for Ben. He’s always guarded, always walking around with a front. She has one too. Maybe that’s why they get along so well. Maybe that’s why they’re both successful at comedy. It’s easier to let your guard down on stage. It’s easy to make fun of yourself, to call yourself out on all the stupid shit, because you’re the one making the jokes and calling the shots. You’re in control.

But she’s felt a change, a shift in the air. She can feel her walls beginning to crumble around him, she can feel herself starting to let him in.

It’s terrifying and exhilarating. Rey imagines its what those daredevils who jump out of planes, with nothing but a glorified sheet strapped to their backs, feel as they plummet toward the ground.

“I was in town.” His answers are vague. They continue to stroll, his hands in his pockets, his eyes fixated on the dark, rippling water of the gulf coast. “I just- I needed to get away. Needed to clear my head.”

“So you came to Spira?” She wasn’t buying it.

“Do you ever just-” He exhales, fingers raking through his hair, his body turned now to face hers. He’s walking backwards, doesn’t even seem to be paying attention to where he’s going, his eyes entirely fixated on her. “Don’t you ever just feel like running away? Of going off on your own, saying fuck it to the rest, and leaving it all behind?”

Her first instinct is to laugh, but sound quickly dies upon her lips. His brow is furrowed, and for a moment she becomes lost in the spark that fills his eyes. They’ve both slowed now, have come to a complete stop.

“Are you okay?” She asks, stepping towards him.

He doesn’t step back. Ben doesn’t answer her either, and she doesn’t press. To be honest, she doesn’t want to hear about his tornado of a marriage. She doesn’t want to hear about its fallout and why it failed.

Once again his hands seem to fidget, to twitch. She wonders if that’s why he’s always smoking so many cigarettes, to give himself something to do.

“My room’s over there.” She can’t tell if he’s stating a fact or asking a question.

Peering over his shoulder, she sees a row of vibrant blue doors, each lit by their own side light, giving off a warm, yellow glow. “Which number are you?”

“Thirteen.”

She squints in the dark. “I see 11 and 15.”

“The one fell off.”

She hums in response. They’ve migrated to the door in question, and she studies the bright white three. She reaches up, her hand idly tracing over the raised curves. “Lucky number.”

He’s leaning against the doorway, his hands digging through his pockets before reemerging with the key. It’s silver and shiny, attached to the brightest red keychain that she’s ever seen. The name of the hotel is worn off of the plastic, and she can only make out a couple of the faded letters.

“Found my key.”

“I didn’t know you were looking for it.”

“How else am I supposed to get in?”

The air feels heavy and thick. Rey knows they’re standing on a precipice, they’re teetering on the edge. It all could boil down to this. And she knows what path she wants to take. She knows which way she wants this to go.

Ben struggles with the key, jiggling it until the lock clicks and the door is pushed open.

Their heads turn in unison, and they stare into the waiting hotel room. The bed’s made. Rey can see a corner of a suitcase peeking out from where it had been pushed underneath the desk. Everything's in its place, everything in order, all neat and tidy.

If only Ben took the same care to his personal life.

Slowly they look back at one another. She steps forward just as he opens his mouth, clearly about to speak. Raising a hand, she brushes her finger against his lips, before her hands drop, moving to straighten his tie. She hopes he can’t see, can’t feel the way her fingers are trembling.

“Why are you here, Ben?” Rey can’t bring herself to look him in the eye. Her hands come to rest against his chest, and she can feel his heart beating beneath her palm.

_Ba boom. Ba boom. Ba boom._

“I missed you.”

“You could have picked up the phone. You could have called.”

“I wanted to see you.”

Her eyes flash to his. “You didn’t have to fly to Spira just to see me. We’re blocks away back in the city.”

He seems to hesitate, his lips pressed together and his eyes scanning her face. He raises a hand, tucks a hair behind her ear. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted to see me.”

“I did.” She answers with a simple shrug. “I do.”

Silence.

Once more they turn, glancing to the hotel room behind them. This is it. This could be their moment. All they have to do is take a leap of faith, a jump.

“I’m going to get a cab.”

The moment breaks.

“I can call one for you.” Ben offers, but she’s already stepping back, a small smile on her lips as she gives a shake of her head. “I can get one myself.”

She begins to walk away, her gait slow and steady, her eyes still on him. Rey reaches up, tugs his suit jacket from her shoulders and tosses it to him.

“Goodnight, Solo.” 

Rey moves to go when he calls after her. “Hey Niima.” She looks back at him, expectant and waiting.

“Do you think-” He lifts a hand, slowly palms his neck before raking his fingers through his hair. He’s leaning against the wall outside of his hotel room, his jacket still clutched in one hand. “Maybe someday?” A hand comes up to his lips, but there’s a twinkle in his eye. “Before I’m dead?”

She smiles, dipping her chin in a nod. “It’s a date.” Rey promises.

After all, timing is everything.


End file.
